


I fought the law; Sherlock won.

by Senket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Platonic Romance, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-22
Updated: 2011-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade has been kidnapped. His captors are getting pretty violent. Somehow he doesn't seem too worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I fought the law; Sherlock won.

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK. Originally it was friendship, but then the tone changed. So it could be a really complicated John/Lestrade/Sherlock, where Sherlock is probably asexual and John still likes having relationships with women meanwhile and Lestrade is widowed and really not too worried about the whole thing. ...

SMACK.

His head wrenched to the side from the force, cheek throbbing. Lestrade gritted his teeth together for a moment before spiting the blood out of his mouth. He must be a real picture right now, the right side of his face one big bruise, his eye swollen shut. Not for the first time, he wished that being in the force could get him a gun.

He looked back up with his best shit-eating grin. “Have you considered entering a boxing league? I’d put money on ya, but I think you might only be able to hit me because those blokes are holding me down.” He inclined his head towards the meaty men on either side of him.

The apparent criminal leader gripped his hands together, cracking his knuckles. He clearly ached to hit Lestrade again, but that clearly hadn’t been getting the reaction he was hoping for. “Yeah?” He grinned then, an ugly expression, twisted with anger. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing with my cock down your throat.”

Lestrade’s expression shuttered, a dangerous smile gracing his lips. “You go ahead, mate, see if _you’re_ still smilin’ when I bite down.”

“I’ll kill ya,” the bulky man hissed.

Lestrade grinned again, head lolling sideways. “Aint’scha seen that American film- Shawshank Redemption, was it?”

Lestrade laughed when the man’s face turned ashen.

“Yea?” the large man growled. “See if you kin do anythin _this_ way.” With a gesture to his cohorts, he circled Lestrade, undoing his belt. The other men gripped Lestrade by the arms, shoving him forward until he was on his stomach.

Lestrade groaned- not a groan of pain, but the sort that said ‘are we going there, _really_?’

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The three men paused at the new voice, each lifting their head from Lestrade’s body slowly to look over at the newcomer. He was short, compact, looking nonthreatening with a fading tan, short light brown hair and an oatmeal sweater. He was also, however, levelling a gun at the pack leader’s head, and his hand was not wavering in the slightest.

A second man appeared behind him, a long coat swirling around his legs as he marched towards them.

Confronted with even numbers and an actual firearm, knowing that if someone had found them on purpose the police wouldn’t be long behind, the men swore and ran for the hills.

John darted forward to untie Lestrade’s hands, Sherlock running after the escaping men. Chuckling quietly when the cop rolled his eyes at them, John eased Lestrade’s hands free.

Rubbing his raw wrists, Lestrade cocked an eyebrow. “Took you two long enough.”

“Sorry, my fault. I had to go pick up a new first-aid kit.” He grinned at Lestrade before turning his attention to the visible wounds, touching the older man’s face lightly. “Dizziness?”

“If you’re asking me if I’ve got a concussion, the answer is probably yes.” He swayed slightly against the shorter man. John snorted- it was very possible that even with a concussion, Lestrade was overacting the symptoms just to be ridiculous. “What was wrong with your old kit?”

“Sherlock used it. I don’t know for what, but I probably don’t want to.”

Lestrade laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

They both glanced up where Sherlock had reappeared. He looked irate, peering into the dark whence he had come.

“Did you lose them?”

Sherlock shrugged, kicking the dirt. “I know how to find them again.”

Lestrade flinched away when John pressed antiseptics into the oozing wound along his ear, chuckling lightly at the man’s quiet apology.

“You really ought to stop using that gun in front of me, John. I _am_ a policeman, believe it or not.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” John answered unperturbedly, winking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who’s driving me home?”

They exchanged amused glances before turning to look up at Sherlock. He still looked irritated, but he curved an eyebrow at them.

“He may or may not have a concussion, Sherlock,” John informed him coolly, a playful smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, very well,” Sherlock grumbled. “I had no intention of sleeping tonight anyway.”

Lestrade grinned at the taller man. They pulled him to his feet. Trapped between them, one arm around John’s shoulders and the other around Sherlock’s waist, Lestrade leaned his head against Sherlock’s ribs as they walked back to the street, where a cab was waiting.

“Did you even _call_ someone?”

“They have all the useful information,” Sherlock said shortly, twirling his phone idly with his free hand as they slid into the back seat one after the other, over-warm as they crammed together, John briefly leaning forward to give the driver the Baker street address.

“I certainly shouldn’t have any trouble pulling them out of a lineup,” Lestrade said, blinking rapidly as the heat made him want to sleep. 

John, staring out the window with a light smile, squeezed Greg’s fingers. “Stay awake.”

“But I’m so comfy,” he groaned childishly, flashing a smile.

“Do cease your whinging,” Sherlock grumbled from his seat.

John and Lestrade both laughed, catching the glimmer of affection in Sherlock’s sharp eyes as the man’s watchful gaze settled over them.


End file.
